“Poetry’s for poofters, innit?” A square jaw thrustwobbling out of sagging jowls to menace my airspace. The first assault, olfactory. Saliva hops into my bitter dominion. Draw breath, draw back as knuckles whiten and eyes glaze with a lust for ****** architecture. “Excuse me, I think I left my car headlights on.”
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.